IntheArmsofaLover (3 page)

Helen closed her eyes and waited, breathing slowly in
anticipation.

He took freaking forever. Was he admiring the cellulite in
her thighs? Or just making her wait, knowing anxiety was a powerful
aphrodisiac? Probably taking pleasure in anticipating her reaction to whatever
herbal cocktail coated the plug.

She felt his hand on her arse, parting her butt cheeks,
exposing her tight hole. He liked doing that, knowing she was slightly
uncomfortable at having her most private place open to his inspection. She took
another breath and exhaled slowly. He’d once held her open like this for ten
minutes but tonight he moved much faster. The tip of the plug pushed against
her muscle and then it was in. Shoved hard. There was no waiting for her to
relax, no gentle insertion. The plug was large, well largish, and rammed in
deep. Before she had a chance to become accustomed to the intrusion, the warmth
of her body ignited whatever was mixed in the wretched lubricant and a wild
heat hit her. She arched her back—as far as she could—and groaned through her
clenched lips.

It wasn’t painful, not really, but the waves of heat
increased as she clenched her butt muscles. She forced them to relax and the
sensation eased. So that was it. Relax or a least try to. It wasn’t easy but slowly
she relaxed her back, hips and arse and sagged into the soft surface of the
bench.

She hoped he was enjoying this as she had distinct doubts.

“How is that?” Luc asked, stroking her arse. “I see you
reacted.” Damn him! How could she reply? She managed a grunt though her teeth
and he chuckled. “Sorry, my dear. Let me take that away.”

The paddle was gone and she could speak. She let out a gasp
first. “It’s warm.”

“I know, I tried it on myself first. I wouldn’t inflict
anything on your tender flesh without testing. It’s not precisely comfortable
but wait a little while and you will notice a reaction in other places. Your
eventual climax will be more that rewarding, I assure you.”

Helen wasn’t too sure she wanted to last that long. Should
she tell him to take the damn thing out? No. It wasn’t getting any worse, or didn’t
seem to and if this was all it was, she could take it. Assuming he was right about
the incredible climax.

“Easing off a bit, is it?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Better see about that then.”

As he walked behind her, she expected a swat from the little
paddle but nothing happened. “Be patient, Helen,” he said. “I’m just getting
myself ready because I want you to suck me after I attend to your delicious
bottom.”

And when was he going to do that?

First, he kissed between her shoulders then trailed a line
of gentle kisses down her spine before delivering a nip to her left butt check.
It wasn’t hard but it was unexpected and she yelped.

“Oh do be quiet!” he said. Or I’ll give you something to
yell about.”

She didn’t doubt he would and if he didn’t, she’d be bitterly
disappointed.

It came right away. A hard slap between her butt cheeks hit
the plug, driving it in deeper as the lubricant reached farther inside. She
restrained the gasp, but when a volley of slaps followed, she cried out. He
called this interesting? Stinging was the word. The burning was easing but what
followed was a niggling irritant that had her wanting to scratch, impossible
since she was restrained and helpless. Might as well take a deep breath and
accept what was coming.

More slaps hit the plug, stinging the sensitive flesh around
her arsehole. Pausing, he said, “I think that’s enough for your first time,
Helen.”

She let out a long sigh of relief but it was unlikely she’d
be relaxing for long, not with Luc in charge. “How about you take out that
plug?” He would if she insisted.

“I will, but first, you must demonstrate your devotion.”

Helen smiled, knowing exactly how and where he wanted her devotion.
He was completely naked, always a treat for the eye, his cock erect and already
covered with a dark condom. Licorice flavored, she thought, one of her favorites.

He straddled the head rest, the tip of his penis almost
brushing her lips. She stretched her neck—one part she could move even if her
arms were tied securely—and opened her lips, looking up at him.

He smiled, resting a hand on her head and angled his hips
closer. Helen closed her lips over the smooth head of his cock, swirling her
tongue to feel the skin beneath and taste the faint tang of licorice. He moved
again, coming in deeper. Her tongue caressed him and she shut her eyes, to
concentrate on the wild and glorious sensations of female power. She loved
doing this, relished the great rush of excitement and pleasure as she took his
precious—to him at least—cock between her lips and gently scraped her teeth up
and down its length.

She might be tied down, her arse plugged with that weird,
herbal concoction, unable to move or resist but she held the ultimate power.
His cock was in her mouth, she could bite or maim and he could do nothing to
stop her. Who was the Dominant now? He sighed with pleasure and she moved her
lips and tongue up and down his length as he guided her head.

Wild sensations coursed through her, her breasts ached and
her cunt flowed as she longed for his wonderful cock to plow her deeply and
hard.

She had a while to wait. He’d promised a flogging and he
always delivered on his promises but she needed his cock, yearned for it,
longed for it deep in her cunt, but for now, her lips would have to satisfy
her.

She would be patient and wait for the coming fuck.

He must have sensed her need.

Gently he withdrew his cock, stroking her face as she
whimpered with disappointment. “Hold your horses, Helen. You will get it back
and exactly where you need it, but first, you know what you must endure, don’t
you?”

She looked up at him. “Will it be a long one?”

“It will be just what you need,” he replied. “However, as a
reward for your so stalwart adoration of my cock, would you like me to remove
that plug?”

“Please.”

“Very well.” He eased it out slowly, nice of him. She wasn’t
sure her tender arse could have taken another shove or yank, and the heat eased
right away. “Feel better?”

“Yes, but it was easing off.”

“I thought it might. Keep still, my dear, I want to try it
somewhere else.” Before she had a chance to ask where, or refuse, his finger
rubbed her clit and the same heat warmed the soft skin around her pussy.

She gasped without thinking.

“Oh hush,” he said. “You’ll survive it and remember your
climax, if I let you have one, will be quite incredible.”

Maybe. “It’s no joke, Luc. It’s hot!”

“Stop fussing, Helen. Here’s something you can complain about!”
The flogger came down hard and sharp across her shoulders, the tresses thudding
and stinging. He was right, as he laid it back and forth she cried out. Between
her still sore arse, her heating clit and the sting in her shoulders, she was
afire with sensation and need.

He flogged hard, giving little respite between strokes.
After her shoulders felt as if they were burning too, he moved to her arse,
firing that up and landing an occasional strike to the exposed backs of her
thighs.

Helen was lost, almost beyond thought, as sensation filled
her body and close to fuddled her mind. She was in dire need, her arousal
crying out for satisfaction and her body yearning for a good, hard fucking.

Luc paused and she let out a breath aware, only too clearly,
of the sting across her skin and the burning need in her cunt.

“How does that feel?” he asked.

She wouldn’t waste breath replying to his question. “For
pity’s sake, Luc, fuck me!”

“Fuck your lovely arse?”

Hell no! “My cunt, I need you to fuck me. Please, oh please fuck
me! Or I—”

She never finished but gasped with pleasure as his cock
drove into her. She was helpless, tied down, unable to move, and he was deep in
her exposed cunt, his hands grasping her hips as he fucked her well and hard.

Was it the potion, as he’d claimed, or just her need that
had her screaming as he plowed her? Her entire body was aroused, every nerve
ending echoing her pleasure, every fiber of her being alive with need as he
pumped her hard and deep, driving her to climax with his male power and
strength.

Her cries became one constant echo of pleasure and sexual
joy. She heard his grunts of satisfaction as he came and her own shout echoed
in her ears as she climaxed. Pleasure coursing through her in great waves, as
she collapsed within the bondage and lay on the leather, a panting, sweaty and satisfied
women.

Luc released her quickly and helped her to her feet. She
wobbled and clung to him for support.

“You are quite wonderful, Helen.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she replied. Not so bad? He was
fucking fantastic but she’d not tell him. He was big-headed enough as it was.

Luc swept her up in his arms and carried her into her
bedroom. “Sleep well,” he told her as he set her on her feet and pulled back
the bedclothes for her. He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll have Poulain
do that search for you, Helen,” he said, as he turned to leave, “but no
promises until I hear something back.”

Fair enough, but somehow Helen sensed that Poppy would pass
scrutiny. At least she hoped so.

Idleness and relaxation were all very well up to a point but,
pretty soon, Poppy found lack of focus and inactivity beginning to pall. True
there were endless possibilities of travel up and down the coast and inland on
the local buses at a euro and a half a go, but even that was losing its
attraction. Her French was coming back. Every day she made a point of stopping
to talk to her landlady and she prolonged conversation in the shops as much as
politeness allowed. And, as time passed, she became more and more convinced
that here was where she wanted to stay.

That decision spurred her into looking for employment. The
fleeting hope of actually running another farm faded fast. She’d heard nothing from
the woman, Helen Crewe, and Poppy had resisted the temptation to ring her and
ask. It had been idle chat, nothing more. But with the season just starting up,
there were several temporary opportunities in shops and cafés gearing up.

She took a job working four days a week in a gift shop in
the flower market and calculated, if she were very frugal, she could add
another month to her stay. And who knew? If the manager was pleased enough with
her work, she might pick up more days and settle here.

Okay, that last was wishful thinking unless she acquired a
rich lover, and there she was verging into the realms of fantasy. Far better to
concentrate on tagging prices on packets of
Herbs de Provence
, and
folding table cloths.

Or answering her mobile during her lunch break. “Where R U?”
It was Audrey, her sister. Again.
Still in France.
She texted back,
wondering why she was so reluctant to be more specific. Because she didn’t one-hundred
percent trust her? Unfair! Audrey was her sister. Albeit her younger sister and
was no doubt still worried about her. She texted a second message.
Am fine.
Just got a job.
There that should keep her at bay a bit. And yes, sooner or
later she’d be more specific about her whereabouts now she was enjoying being
out of touch and unreachable. She’d have to face Tommy’s offspring eventually but
right now “disinclined to” was putting it mildly.

“Madame, excuse, but you are the lady of the purple hands,
are you not?”

It was the younger half of the odd pair from a week or so
back. Didier something or other if she remembered rightly from his business
card. “Yes,” Poppy replied. “Only now…” she held up her hands. “They are pink.”

He smiled, really a rather attractive smile. “You look so
serious.”

She bet she did. “I was just replying to my sister. My
younger sister.”

“And you are worried about her?”

No point to saying it was the total reverse. It was none of
his business anyway. “Just catching up with her during lunch.” If you could
call a
croque monsieur
and a bottle of San Pellegrino lunch.

“Would you permit me to join you?”

Would she? Why the hell not? “By all means but I have to be
back a work in fifteen minutes.”

“You have a job?”

At least he didn’t sound surprised. More curious really. “Yes,
in one of the shops. I decided I wanted to stay here.”

“That is good.” Really? “Next week there is a show of my
grandfather’s photographs. Just a small exhibition you understand but perhaps
you would like to come? You have my card.”

She did, somewhere in the depths of her handbag. “Better
give me another, just in case.”

It appeared as if he’d produced it from up his sleeve, along
with a small flyer. “About the exhibition. Please take it.”

* * * * *

A week later, Poppy rode the tram out to a small church in
the suburbs and walked into the meeting room to stop short at the incredible
array of photographs. Monsieur Mainard, the old man from the
Promenade des
Anglais,
wasn’t just an eccentric with a camera. He was an incredible
artist. Thirty or forty photos hung from the walls and a divider that spanned
the middle of the room. She found hers and marveled that the shading on her
book cover reflected the purple of her nail varnish. She’d never noticed that,
but he had. Other photos caught her eye, one of a small child’s hand trustingly
enfolded in a wrinkled, elderly one and she had to smile at a large, obviously
male, hand holding close, and almost covering, a tiny baby.

“Madame Gordon, you came!”

Nice to be greeted with a smile and open arms. She wasn’t quite
as sure about the triple
bisous
on her cheeks. “Of course I did. And I’m
so glad I came. Your grandfather’s photos are wonderful.”

“Please come and tell him so.”

Seemed churlish to refuse, especially after that smile. So
she let him take her elbow and steer over to the side of the room where she met
an assortment of Didier’s family, starting with his father, who greeted her
warmly and called her his “muse”. Then a sister, a brother-in-law and some sort
of cousin, all of whom were perfectly polite, obviously bored and decidedly
disinclined to make friendly conversation with a stray Englishwoman speaking
rusty French. Fair enough. Poppy complimented Monsieur Mainard on the
exhibition and then headed for the exit.

Didier forestalled her. “You’re not leaving?”

“Yes, I’ve seen the exhibit, met your family and now…”

“Please don’t go.” He took her hands and held them in his.
She let him, knowing she could easily pull away. “Let me take you for an
aperitif. Please.”

Why not? He was attractive, presentable and an hour or so in
his company appealed far more than going home to ignore her sister’s texts and
calls.

“Shouldn’t you have stayed with your grandfather?” Poppy asked,
after they settled themselves in a café a few meters down the road.

‘‘My sister will take him back with her. I must tell you,”
he went on, “how delighted I was you came. I had hoped to see you again.”

She smiled. Couldn’t help it. “Really?”

“But of course. You are beautiful and that afternoon we met
you had such an air of sadness about you. I thought, ‘This woman should be
happy’ but you were not.”

And he was going to be the one to cheer her up. How clichéd.
“I wasn’t unhappy. I was tired that afternoon and relaxing.”

“Let us relax together.”

She’d been out of the loop for a long time but not that
long. Drinks appeared just then, so she lifted her glass. “
Santé
.”

He clinked his against hers. “To happiness.”

Better get this straight. “Happiness and contentment.” He was
good-looking—the French
sortable
was the perfect word to describe him—pleasant
company, and she was in the mood for a little flirtation. “Have you always
lived in Nice?”

“I was born here, went to University in Marseille and then
came back. It is the perfect city.” She wouldn’t argue with that. “Why did you
come?” he asked. “To become happy?”

Oh dear, he was going harp on about that and no doubt offer
to cheer her up. “I came for a holiday as I was at a loose end and out of a
job. I’d been here before and always liked the area. “

“Of course. The English all like Nice.” His hand covered
hers. “I am so pleased you came.”

“So am I.” That was pretty well agreed upon.

He smiled. “What can I do for you, Poppy?”

She put her free hand over his. “Buy me another drink.”

“With pleasure, if you would like one, but my flat is close
and we could have a drink there.”

Rather obvious but why not? “We could indeed.” Oh God, was
that being too eager?

Maybe it was, but he was mightily chuffed. “Come.” He stood
and held out his hand. She took it as he threw a note and coins on the table
and together they walked out into the street.

His flat wasn’t that close, but his car was and in minutes
they were weaving though narrow streets until he pulled up in a side street. Pausing
only to give her a rather luscious and very skilled kiss that promised ever
better to come, he took her hand, led her around the corner and across the
street then into a building and up four flights of stairs.

She definitely needed that drink but turned down any more
alcohol. “How about coffee?”

“Now?”

“Why not? A burst of energy never hurts. Does it?” Oh dear, maybe
that made her sound decrepit. Well, he’d asked her hadn’t he?

“But of course. Let me take your coat.”

She’d never had a jacket taken off quite so carefully, his
hands stroking her shoulders and her arms as he removed it. Nice touch. Very nice
touch actually. “Have a seat.”

There weren’t many options, and since she wanted to drink a
good, strong coffee first, she passed the bed and perched on a stool by the
ledge—only word for it—in the tiny kitchen.

His jacket ended up next to hers on the hooks by the door
and he produced an Italian espresso maker, set it on the tiny hob and took two
tiny cups from a cabinet. There was something oddly intimate about watching a
man in his kitchen. But she didn’t want that. She wanted… What did she want?
Sex? Passion? Assurance she still had what it took to attract a man? How long
had it been since she’d had sex? Not since Tommy got ill, over a year ago.

Could she pass muster? This was a Frenchman after all, and
no doubt an experienced one who picked up tourists all the time, and… Damn it! Sex
was like riding a bicycle, she’d heard. You never forgot how to do it.

“Something the matter?” he asked. “You look worried.”

“No, I’m not worried. I…” She reached across the ledge and
took his hand. “Just anticipating a very nice cup of coffee.”

“It will,” he replied, his hand stroking hers, “be a superb cup
of coffee.”

She smiled, meeting his dark eyes. “I feel sure it will be.”
Damn, she was enjoying this, his smile, his touch, the anticipation. Pity she
hadn’t indulged in some new, sexy undies.

Poppy gulped, as he raised her hand and kissed the inside of
the wrist. “Do you like sugar in your coffee?” The way he looked at her, to say
nothing of his soft, but definitely sexy voice, left her frankly none too
certain if she knew, or cared one way or the other. And I really didn’t matter.
Not right now. “Just coffee.”

“It won’t be ‘just coffee’.”

She so hoped not.

But it was darn good coffee, strong, dark and aromatic. Poppy
inhaled the aroma as she lifted the tiny cup to her mouth and sipped. It wasn’t
too hot so she downed it in two swallows. That should help. In fact she’d swear
she could already feel the caffeine seeping into her bones. “That was very
good.”

Keeping his eyes on hers, he drained his cup. “What happens
next will be far, far better,” he said, putting his cup back in the saucer and
holding out his hand.

She grabbed it, standing and moving with him so they stood
facing each other.

He smiled and lowered his head. Poppy stood on tiptoe,
tilting her face up until their lips met. His kiss was smooth, soft and gentle,
but she sensed right away the passion and power behind his touch. This was a
man who knew exactly how to kiss, and with a wild rush of need, she parted her
lips and opened her mouth to his.

His entire body seemed to quiver as the tips of their
tongues met. She was not here to hesitate. At his touch, her tongue curled
around his and, with a soft groan, he deepened the kiss, taking her with him,
pushing her for more as she met his mouth with a wild and almost frantic need.

How she’d missed the sensation of strong male arms about her
and the sense of male need and desire—for her. She shut her eyes to block out
everything but the taste of coffee on his tongue and the press on his lips in
hers. His hands stroked up and down her back, feeling for her bra perhaps? Then
they were inside her waistband and against her skin, cupping her arse cheeks as
he pulled her closer, pressing his erection into her belly. As if she needed
proof that he wanted her.

She smiled against his lips, eased herself away from him
just a little, and ran her hands over his chest and inside his shirt. Skin on
skin was good. No, wonderful! As he whispered, “You have too many clothes.”

“So do you.”

Poppy had his shirt unbuttoned and yanked out of his
trousers as he snapped open her bra and one hand cupped her breast as the other
continued to fondle her arse. She opened her legs until she rode his thigh and
he obliged by bringing up his knee between her legs.

They could have done this all night, except they both wanted
more and he was gently but surely half carrying her until the backs of her legs
brushed the end of his bed and he toppled her backward. She smiled up at him. “Shouldn’t
we be naked?”

“But of course,” he replied, taking off his shirt. Not exactly
hard work, as she’d undone it for him but the view from where she lay was pretty
nice. He kicked off his shoes before sitting on the edge of the bed to take off
his socks. Good move. Socks should always come off before trousers. “Sit up,”
he said. And as she shifted, he removed her blouse and bra.

“Magnificent!” he whispered, appearing pretty much mesmerized
at the sight of her breasts. “Wonderful,” he went on, as he stroked them both
and cupped her left one as he bent to kiss her nipple. It wasn’t just a kiss,
he suckled, as if drawing sustenance from her, worshiping her breast and
teasing the nipple with his tongue before moving to her other side. Not wanting
to interrupt him in any way, Poppy lay back and let him do his very best.

Damn!
His “best” was darn marvelous, but she wanted
more than having her breasts adored. She reached up to him and whispered, “You’re
now the one wearing too many clothes.”

He laughed, pausing in his kiss to grin down at her. “You
are a demanding woman.”

“I don’t think so,” she replied. “Besides I’d like to see
you naked.”

“Only if you are too.”

She wasn’t about to argue that one. Everything above her
waist was gone anyway. Slipping off her skirt was the work of seconds—hooray
for elastic waists—and her slip and panties came with it.